


Wheels Up

by CatWingsAthena



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Gen, I mean what do you expect it's me, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Male-Female Friendship, Team as Family, You could totally read this as autistic Reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 09:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17281220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatWingsAthena/pseuds/CatWingsAthena
Summary: When Emily Prentiss first arrived at the BAU, she wasn’t sure what to make of the man with the constantly fidgeting hands and the fondness for statistics.Or, an account of the beginnings of Prentiss and Reid's friendship, and the difficulties it had in getting off the ground.For Kaylee_To_My_Strawberries, who always wants more Prentiss fic.





	Wheels Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaylee_To_My_Strawberries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaylee_To_My_Strawberries/gifts).



> Hey everybody! I wrote this because Emily Prentiss kind of arrived at the BAU at the worst possible time for Reid--right before Revelations--and, as such, they naturally had some issues getting to be friends. This fic is the story of how they both came around. Just so you know, this work contains references to drug addiction, canonical temporary major character death, and mentions of canon-typical violence. Hope you enjoy!

When Emily Prentiss first arrived at the BAU, she wasn’t sure what to make of the man with the constantly fidgeting hands and the fondness for statistics.

She’d never liked men who felt the need to shove their superiority in any domain in people’s faces, so, naturally, Dr. Spencer Reid, with his IQ of 187, his eidetic memory, and his reading speed of 20,000 words per minute--all of which he made sure people knew about--struck her the wrong way. And when he confirmed to Derek Morgan that _al ikhteraa_ meant “the invention”, as if her word wasn’t enough, she got annoyed at the both of them.

Still, something made her hold off on passing a complete judgement. Maybe it was profiler’s instinct, telling her there was something else going on here. Maybe it was just that she wanted fiercely to be a part of the BAU, and while she didn’t have to _like_ the people in it for that to happen, it would be best to avoid making any enemies. Maybe it was something else entirely.

Whatever the case, she didn’t _dislike_ Reid--but she didn’t like him either.

...

Spencer Reid knew Elle.

He knew the patterns of her speech, of her movements, the length of her stride and the circumstances under which it changed. He knew of the fury that bubbled under her calm, professional demeanor, knew of her dedication, her commitment to stopping those who would inflict harm on those weaker than themselves. He could connect the dots of her into a map that made sense.

(At least, he’d thought he could.)

(Whether he should have seen it coming was irrelevant. Whether he should have stopped it was irrelevant. These were the facts: Elle was gone, and someone else was here.)

The map of Emily Prentiss did not make sense. He didn’t have enough dots to connect into a pattern. He didn’t _know_ her.

With every move, every word she said, she reminded him how _not-Elle_ she was, and he knew when he joined the BAU that there would be some turnover in a job that burns people out, but he didn’t expect _this._ Not Elle. Not like this. Not so soon.

He didn’t _dislike_ Prentiss, per se. She was an unknown quantity. He didn’t have enough data.

Fortunately for him, he was a profiler. He could collect data on people fairly quickly, these days.

Assuming he wanted to.

(These were the facts: Elle was gone. She wasn’t coming back.)

Thus, on the plane to Guantanamo Bay, Reid was gathering data.

How she talked. How she sat. How she reacted to social rejection.

Still, he knew his data-gathering window was limited.

Because Gideon announced that he was on body language tells and nonverbal cues. Which he could absolutely do, and do well, but it was going to take all of his concentration. He couldn’t focus on the subject and his team member at the same time. Which was probably a good thing. He was going to have to trust her sooner or later. A basic level of faith in your team was part of the job.

But when she questioned Gideon, and Reid said, “I’ve been with him long enough to trust him,” it just reminded him that that level of trust is earned, and he didn’t have it with her yet.

He hoped someday he would. But not today.

...

Prentiss knew from the beginning that the case with the mission-based killers in rural Georgia was going to be a bad one.

She didn’t--she couldn’t--know _how_ bad.

After Reid was taken, she watched the team start to panic, then pull themselves together and work with a kind of determination she’d never seen before. She felt a thrum of energy moving through them, a single-minded focus that made them unstoppable.

When Reid “died”, she _felt_ as much as saw them start to fall apart.

When he was revived, she felt their relief, so strong it nearly overwhelmed her.

She could understand their fervor, she supposed--he was a colleague, a friend, and besides, they spent their lives doing this for strangers--but there seemed to be more to it than any of that.

Under their veneer of professionalism, the team were acting like the families she’d seen with a loved one missing.

Prentiss didn’t know if she could ever be a part of that.

When they found Reid, Prentiss watched Hotch-- _Hotch,_ of all people--pull him into a tight hug.

Prentiss didn’t know if she could be a part of something like that. She hoped someday she could.

But even if she couldn’t, it was nice to know it existed.

...

After Reid came back, he was... different.

Distant. Less fidgety, which Prentiss found worrying. He talked more slowly--not enough to notice unless you were a profiler, but definitely there. He showed up to meetings late, and wasn’t as quick to jump in. And he was snappy, in a way he’d never been before.

It didn’t take her long to put the pieces together.

She thought about reporting it. She wasn’t sure how much sense it made, letting a drug addict handle life-or-death cases. If he screwed up, in their job, the consequences could be disastrous.

But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

She _liked_ Reid, dammit. And he was part of her team.

Prentiss knew that when you have a team, you don’t betray them. And telling Reid’s secret would be a betrayal.

So she kept her silence, and hoped he’d figure it out on his own.

And that he wouldn’t screw anything up too badly before he got there.

...

As Prentiss walked out of the shelter in Houston, Reid knew he was in trouble.

The look on her face said he’d just screwed up big-time. He needed to protect his secret, and Prentiss was not an easy person to fool.

If she found out, he’d get kicked out of the BAU for sure. And... there was really nothing else for him, was there? He couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else. It scared him a little, how dependent he was on this job that he could now so easily lose.

So he went into survival mode.

If he could push her away, maybe she’d stop asking questions, he’d rationalize to himself later. In the moment, though, there was no complicated thought process, no plan. Just self-preservation, pure and simple.

First, he defended his decisions. A gut reaction, trying to make her see why he’d said what he’d said (then maybe she’d leave him alone).

When she asked “what is the _matter_ with you?” he tried not to let her see his panic.

“What do you mean, what’s the matter with me?” he asked, as nonchalantly as he could.

“I’ve never seen you act this way,” Prentiss replied.

He struck back fast and hard.

“Oh really? In the _months_ that you’ve known me, you’ve never seen me act this way?” he said. “Hey, no offence, Emily, but you don’t really know what you’re talking about, do you?”

As he walked away, he ignored the pang that went through him.

He was safe, at least for now.

...

The first time Reid didn’t pick up the phone, Prentiss didn’t think much of it.

By the fourth time, she was worried and annoyed in equal measure.

Sitting on the plane, she just hoped he’d show up--a hope that was dashed when Morgan arrived, alone.

“The victim’s fiancée is expecting us,” said Prentiss. “What are we supposed to do?” She knew the answer, she just didn’t want to be the one to say it.

“We got one option,” said Morgan, in a tone that radiated _but I don’t have to like it_. “Wheels up.”

...

When Reid walked into the BAU one day looking sicker than usual, Prentiss didn’t think much of it.

But when he scrunched up his face periodically as if feeling sick to his stomach, got up from his chair slowly, and made several trips to the bathroom on the jet, she started to hope.

What clinched it, though, was the fidgeting.

It was back, and stronger than ever.

Prentiss gave a mental whoop of joy. She’d been rooting for Reid, almost without realizing how fervent it had become. She’d realized at some point that she couldn’t picture the team without him. That was strange.

Strange, but good.

She hoped he’d be strong enough to keep it up. She had a feeling he would be.

And he was.

...

Reid took a deep breath.

He was sitting in the car with Prentiss, driving to a witness’s house. He wouldn’t get a better chance than this.

It was time for the ninth step. Making amends.

He just had to do it without arousing suspicion.

“Hey,” said Reid. “Remember that time in Houston, when I snapped at you?”

“Yeah,” said Prentiss slowly. “You’re bringing this up now... why?”

“I just wanted to say, I was kind of being a dick--”

“Kind of?” Prentiss replied, but she was smiling.

“--and I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m sorry,” said Reid.

“It’s okay,” said Prentiss.

“Really?” asked Reid.

“Well, I was annoyed, and a little hurt--but I knew you were just dealing with what was going on the best you could,” Prentiss said.

“Thanks,” said Reid after a moment.

“Anytime,” Prentiss replied.

...

Sitting in a compound in Colorado, Prentiss knew she had a choice to make.

Cyrus’s attention, and his gun, were trained on Reid. Who had just said he had no idea what Cyrus was talking about when he asked which one of them was an FBI agent.

An outside observer might have thought he was being remarkably nonchalant about the whole thing. But Prentiss could read the stammer in his voice for what it was.

He was terrified.

And yet.

Prentiss knew what he was doing--buying time to think of a plan, and trying desperately to keep their cover intact. She could see his fear. But she could also see something else in his eyes--acceptance.

Reid was willing to die to protect their plan--and, by extension, the lives of those in the compound.

In that moment, Prentiss knew that she’d rather die than let that happen.

Prentiss had found things she’d kill for. She’d found things she’d put her life, her name, her _soul_ in a box for.

She’d never found something she’d be willing to die for. (Risk her life, sure. But that was different.)

In a compound in Colorado, she did--or maybe she just learned that she already had.

“It’s me,” she said, and waited for whatever would come.

When it was nothing but a beating, she counted herself lucky. She could handle that.

She would a thousand times over, to keep Reid safe.

Because he was her family.

...

Reid sat on the plane, pretending to read, but lost in thought.

Prentiss could have died today, because of him. She’d drawn Cyrus’s ire without hesitation, without concern for her own safety. She could have died.

And it would have been his fault.

If he’d thought it through faster, he would have realized that one of them taking the bullet was the only way out. It could have been him. Should have been him.

(She’d been beaten. Reid _knew_ how much that hurt. How frightening it was, not knowing what damage the next blow was going to do.)

So, when Prentiss came over and sat across from him, Reid braced himself. He had no idea what she was going to say.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied.

Then, she pushed his book down and took his hand.

“I need you to listen to me,” said Prentiss. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault. It was my decision, and I would do it again.”

Reid looked at her.

“Do you hear me?” she asked, and Reid couldn’t answer. But he smiled, a little, and that was enough.

“Thank you,” said Prentiss, squeezing his hand.

He smiled at her.

She smiled back.

It wasn’t the beginning of anything. It was just a moment, just a realization.

They were family.

It was good.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it! If you did, please let me know below. I hope you have a great day!


End file.
